


stars in orbit

by miyaosamu (kunimi)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, but hey! excellent timing! it's bokuatsu week!, set during the timeskip - atsumu's first year on msby, yet another twt thread gang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-24 16:33:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30075096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kunimi/pseuds/miyaosamu
Summary: Atsumu is fifteen the first time he meets Bokuto Koutarou. He sees him, sixteen and powerful, with a bright grin and bolder movements than anyone else he knows, and thinks:I can’t wait to beat him.(Itachiyama gets that honour that year, but that’s okay. Miya Atsumu is a victor at heart, and it just makes him burn for it more. He’s never known how to give up. He’s not about to start now.)Seasons pass, and Bokuto continues to shine like a star. Atsumu is the centre of his own universe – of every universe, he would say, seventeen and blazing, before Osamu smacks him up the head and tells him to shut the fuck up – but Bokuto Koutarou is the brightest thing he’s ever seen.miya atsumu wants to beat bokuto koutarou. he thinks. maybe he just wants to kiss him. or: atsumu, koutarou, and navigating life when your best friend on the team is stupid fucking hot.
Relationships: Bokuto Koutarou/Miya Atsumu
Kudos: 41





	stars in orbit

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted as a twt thread, commissioned by iris @kuehjpg for christine @bokkuatsu !! figured i'd post it here for easier reading. the original thread can be found [here](https://twitter.com/kurokenns/status/1371487756107485185?s=20)
> 
> the prompt was bokuatsu + fwb!

Atsumu is fifteen the first time he meets Bokuto Koutarou. He sees him, sixteen and powerful, with a bright grin and bolder movements than anyone else he knows, and thinks: _I can’t wait to beat him._

(Itachiyama gets that honour that year, but that’s okay. Miya Atsumu is a victor at heart, and it just makes him burn for it more. He’s never known how to give up. He’s not about to start now.)

Seasons pass, and Bokuto continues to shine like a star. Atsumu is the centre of his own universe – of every universe, he would say, seventeen and blazing, before Osamu smacks him up the head and tells him to shut the fuck up – but Bokuto Koutarou is the brightest thing he’s ever seen.

When they meet each other again, face-to-face in the MSBY locker rooms, it’s different. _They're_ different.

Atsumu doesn’t have his other half – his mirror image, the person who knows every inch of him and stands beside him anyway - anymore.

Bokuto, similarly, is an entire world away from the team that called him their star. There’s no jack-of-all-trades to have his back, no Mr. Reliable to block the returning attack of points Bokuto couldn’t land, no manager to cheer him on. No setter who speaks his language.

So together, they build something anew.

They have the rest of the Jackals, of course, but they’re the youngest at first. The newest. They know each other already, but they stick together – learn each other again. Find the differences.

That first day in the locker room, Atsumu had threatened Bokuto – had stood his ground, made clear he wouldn’t stand for any sort of moping after a failed hit, no matter _how_ good Bokuto is. (And he really is very good, Atsumu knows.)

Bokuto had said _I'm just the ace, after all_. Atsumu had no idea what to make of that at first, but as they spend time together, uncover the spaces between who they are now and who they once were, he thinks he gets it.

Without Osamu by his side, Atsumu’s become a little more socially acceptable as a person. (Osamu says it’s just called ‘growing up’, but Atsumu blames him for this newly-awakened self-awareness, and refuses to listen to him on the matter.)

In the wake of that final high school match, Atsumu discovers, Bokuto has become someone resilient. He asks him about it once, when it’s just the two of them after practice, cleaning up the floor.

“Hm? Oh, well, Konoha told me he’d cheer for me 110% of the way!” Bokuto says. “And the job of the ace is to spike every ball with complete confidence! to make the shots land! So that’s what I’ve gotta do.”

He says it like it’s so easy – like that wasn’t just as true in high school, like nothing’s changed to make him be able to pull it off now. Atsumu looks at him incredulously, but Bokuto just grins at him.

It’s a nice grin.

The Bokuto Beam starts gaining real momentum during that year. Bokuto’s already put in a year on the team, and he’s got his fans, all of whom like the smile, but it’s that year when it really becomes something to be reckoned with. Something fuckin’ celestial.

“I’m not jealous,” Atsumu insists one night at the bar. He’s hanging off Bokuto’s arm, one hand curled around his bicep. For balance. He thinks. His cheeks are warm. He thinks it’s the crowd, or the alcohol, maybe. Definitely not Bokuto’s smile trained on him.

(It’s smaller, this one. Not the Bokuto Beam, but something just as warm, just as bright. It’s a gentle thing, searing into Atsumu’s skin. Curved in amusement and so fucking fond that Atsumu wants to – wants to –

Wants to push it away. Match it with his own – no, fuck that, _outshine_ it with his own.

Kiss it off Bokuto’s face, maybe.

But that’s a dangerous thought, so he pushes that aside.)

“Sure, Tsum-Tsum,” Bokuto says good-naturedly.

“I’m not!” Atsumu insists. He furrows his brows in a frown. “I bet,” he says, leaning in close, and _wow_ , Bokkun has pretty eyes, huh, “I bet I could have fans just like that!”

Bokuto laughs. “You already do,” he points out. “I remember those girls coming to nationals with those fans for you twins – you’ve always been popular, Tsum-Tsum!”

Atsumu frowns. This is true. It doesn’t feel satisfying, though. Maybe the issue isn’t having fans, but who they are.

Bokuto tilts his head. Atsumu hadn’t even realised he’d said that out loud. “So who do you want to be your fan, Tsum-Tsum?”

“You,” Atsumu says promptly, without any trace of embarrassment. Then he wrinkles his nose. “Everyone,” he says decisively. “I’m takin’ ‘Samu’s fans too – well, not Sakusa, he can keep him, god, have I told you about that yet – ”

He chatters a little, but Bokuto is eyeing him warmly. “You’re cute, Tsum-Tsum,” he declares, like it’s nothing. To be fair, Atsumu _did_ just say he wanted him to be his fan. Perhaps he doesn’t have a leg to stand on in expecting embarrassment.

“Hell yeah I am,” Atsumu says immediately, then: “Shut up.” Bokuto’s eyebrows twist in confusion, but Atsumu grumbles into his arm – the one that isn’t holding onto Bokuto’s bicep, that is. His other arm is still _very_ much doing that. Maybe he should move it.

He doesn’t.

“Y’know, you’re my best friend on the team,” Bokuto says, and Atsumu knows that. He does. This isn’t news. So it’s ridiculous that he’s a little endeared by it despite himself. That he wants to tell Bokuto the exact same thing.

“Yeah, ‘course I am, I’m the best,” he says instead, dropping his head so he can mumble it into Bokuto’s shoulder.

“You are,” Bokuto says agreeably, then stands, hoisting Atsumu up. “Let’s go, though.”

There’s a weird moment when Bokuto is helping atsumu to his room – it’s not, like, _weird_ weird, it’s just... charged? Atsumu thinks. He’s only lightly buzzed now, the cold air having sobered him up, but he’s still warm in his chest. He refuses to consider that being because of Bokuto. But there’s still a moment when Bokuto tells him good night, and Atsumu waves him off with a nod – when Bokuto calls out _drink water!_ and Atsumu grumbles _fuck you_ at him. In that moment, it looks like Bokuto is tempted to say something else in response. Like he's considering it, not just as a random flippant comment from Atsumu, but as a genuine proposition.

Bokuto leaves eventually, ducking down the corridor, but Atsumu thinks about that thoughtful expression all night. Jacks off to it too – thinks about feeling bad for all of ten seconds then decides it’s all good. Tons of people probably jerk it to Bokkun – he's a popular athlete _and_ he's fuckin' hot. Atsumu’s just the newest disciple, that’s all.

Still, that moment plays in his mind, over and over. Bokuto grabs lunch with him, and Atsumu wonders what it’d be like to kiss him. Bokuto scores off his set, and Atsumu thinks about sucking his dick. And so it goes. It becomes part of the rhythm of his life.

One day, Atsumu’s so pent up that he just practices his serves long after the rest of them are gone, because what the fuck, Bokuto’s thighs looked stupid good today. What the _fuck_. Unfair.

“What’s up with you today?” and isn’t that just the voice he wants to hear least. (Or maybe most. It’s hard to tell.)

“Nothin’,” Atsumu grumbles, then leaps into the air, smashing another ball across the net.

Bokuto watches it zoom across the court in mild interest. “Uh-huh,” is all he says.

Atsumu scowls, and resists the urge to chuck a volleyball at his stupid huge chest. Knowing Atsumu’s luck and how ridiculously buff Bokuto is, the ball would just bounce right off his tits and smash Atsumu’s nose in or something awful.

“I’m just practicin’!” he defends. “Someone’s gotta score the service aces around here!”

It’s a low blow, because Bokuto missed two last game, but Bokuto just continues to look at him.

“I dunno, it really feels like there’s something on your mind,” Bokuto muses. He doesn’t even sound mad. Atsumu doesn’t deserve a friend like him, what the fuck.

He’s so unreasonably indignant on Bokuto’s own behalf – which means against _himself_ , which is just stupid – that he ends up gnashing his teeth together, all of it building up, too strong for him to expel through his serves.

“Ugh! Fine! Fuck! You!” he says.

“Fuck… me?” Bokuto asks, confused. Atsumu belatedly realises it could sound like he’s saying _fuck you_ , and cringes.

“No, fuck – well, maybe, just. You! You’re what’s on my mind! You and your stupid fuckin’ thighs and huge ass tits and stupid big beam! Drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy!” Atsumu says furiously.

Bokuto blinks, long and slow. As he does, Atsumu’s words catch up with him and he feels the flush building up in his cheeks. Oh, _fuck_.

“I’m distracting you?” Bokuto checks. He moves a little closer. Atsumu watches him warily.

“Ugh. Yeah, i guess,” Atsumu grumbles. “Not ‘cuz I like ya or anythin’, just – ” he waves his hands at him, pretends he’s telling the truth. “You’re hot as fuck, I guess. You know that, yeah?”

“I didn’t know you thought so,” Bokuto says, and he’s still moving closer, why the _fuck_ is he moving _closer?_

“Yeah, well. Now ya do,” Atsumu says, resigned.

Bokuto’s in front of him now, his eyes bright. “Can I kiss you?” he asks.

Atsumu freezes. “What?” he demands, sure he didn’t hear right.

“Can I kiss you?” Bokuto repeats. “And more, I guess – I noticed your ‘maybe’ about the fucking, so.”

Oh my god. Atsumu can’t tell if he wants to die or if this is the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Maybe both.

“Yeah, all right,” he says hoarsely.

Kissing quickly turns into more, because Bokuto might have the hugest pecs on planet earth, but Atsumu’s always been fuckin’ proud of his hands, of how well he can move all ten fingers, and he’s proud to say they can _absolutely_ handle Bokkun’s chest.

They can handle a _lot_ more than that, he’s pleased to discover when they fall into the locker room showers, flinging their shirts haphazardly to the floor, mouths sucking at each other’s skin, hands roaming, grabbing, tweaking anything they can reach.

Bokuto presses them together and Atsumu takes them both in his hands, working those setter fingers he’s so proud of to chase the high, something heady in the air between them. Atsumu comes with a gasp in Bokuto’s shoulder, Bokuto murmuring his name against his hair.

Not Tsum-Tsum. _Atsumu_.

They clean up, and Atsumu isn’t sure how he’s meant to react after that, but Bokuto decides for him. He grins at Atsumu, clapping him on the shoulder. “That was fun!” he says brightly. “Hit me up if you wanna do it again! By the way, we still on for the arcade on Tuesday?”

And so it becomes part of their normal routine. They still hang out constantly, doing all their normal best-friends-on-the-team things, like watching movies in Bokuto’s room and going out for _yakiniku_ then half-demolishing the arcade as they get too worked up over Dance Dance Revolution and decimating each other on the air hockey table.

Just now, sometimes, Bokuto runs his hand through Atsumu’s hair when Atsumu is calling the rom-com leads scrubs and throwing popcorn at the screen. Now, sometimes, the prize for winning air hockey isn’t to be shouted their next shared dinner, but to receive a blow job.

Now, sometimes, between the normal hangouts, they fall into each other. Atsumu starts to think the only thing he knows as well as the minutiae of Osamu’s expressions or the feel of the volleyball in his hands is the taste of Bokuto’s skin.

He knows what Bokuto looks like when he comes undone, how Bokuto sounds when Atsumu swipes his tongue over him, how Bokuto’s hands feel in his hair. He knows how Bokuto feels inside him. He knows how it feels to be inside Bokuto. He knows the way Bokuto leaves hickeys, the way his teeth graze the skin as he sucks, the exact path of his tongue soothing the skin afterwards, the same every time. Like everything else Bokuto does, he fucks with enthusiasm, but also care.

It’s a particularly long night when Atsumu arrives in Bokuto’s room and just climbs onto his bed, shoving his face into Bokuto’s neck, wrapping his arms around him. Bokuto presses gentle kisses to his head, rubbing his shoulders.

“What’s up?” he asks, and it’s gentle. _So_ fucking gentle. Atsumu burns with it.

“Just fucked off,” Atsumu says. “I’ll get over it.” And he will. He could get over it faster, probably, if he used Bokuto for stress relief, but. Well. While that’s part of why he came over, he has to admit, if only to himself, that he finds Bokuto’s presence comforting, whether they end up doing anything or not.

“Hmm,” Bokuto hums agreeably. “Want me to blow you?”

Atsumu snorts into his neck. “So straightforward,” he says, huffing a laugh.

“I’m efficient,” Bokuto says proudly.

“So romantic,” Atsumu teases. “What happened to winin’ and dinin’?”

And he’s joking. He is. But then Bokuto stills, and Atsumu’s heart catches in his throat.

“Bokkun—” he starts, but Bokuto interrupts him.

“D’you want to?” Bokuto asks. Atsumu stills now, then pulls his face from the crook of Bokuto’s neck to look him in the eye. “Because i don’t mind.”

“Don’t mind?” Atsumu questions, mind reeling. He doesn’t know whether to be thrilled or disappointed – ecstatic to get _something_ , disappointed that it’s so ambivalent.

A voice that sounds like Osamu’s echoes in his head: _that tells ya it’s more than just platonic for ya, doesn’t it, ya fuck?_

 _Shut up_ , he retorts back. _Go stare into Sakusa’s eyes or whatever the fuck y’all do to flirt._

“I mean,” Bokuto says, hesitating for a second, then, stronger: “I want to. If you want to. Like. I’m down.”

Atsumu recalibrates this in his head, then his eyes widen. “Wait, really?”

Bokuto shrugs, smiles at him. “I told you, didn’t I? You’re my best friend on the team.”

“Operative word bein’ _friend_ , Bokkun,” Atsumu mutters.

“Operative word being best,” Bokuto corrects. “You’re my favourite.”

And. _Oh_. That does something to his chest, Atsumu can admit.

“Will ya take me to the good soba place for once?” Atsumu asks finally. “Or, fuck, actually, can we get _chūtoro?”_

Bokuto grins at him, and it’s that smile from the bar. Small, gentle, fucking fond. As bright as the Bokuto Beam, but just for him. Just for him.

“Hell yeah we can,” he says, and Atsumu looks at this grinning, wonderful, beautiful man and thinks, not for the first time, that he doesn’t want to beat him anymore. Thinks he wants to kiss him.

So he does.

Bokuto’s lips against his, warm and bright and not just a temporary measure now, but something he’s allowed to want, something that’s just for him – well, it makes something come loose in his chest, just a bit.

Maybe beating Bokuto’s overrated, he thinks some time later, pressing Bokuto harder into the mattress, swallowing his moans. Kissing him. Winning with him. Having him by his side. Those are what he wants instead.

And now he’s got them.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on [twitter!](https://twitter.com/kurokenns)
> 
> the twitter post for this fic can be found [here!](https://twitter.com/kurokenns/status/1372001492425568257?s=20)
> 
> original thread [here](https://twitter.com/kurokenns/status/1371487756107485185?s=20)


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